


We Are Sundered

by Fernstrike



Series: B2MeM 2017 [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dagor Bragollach, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 15:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10250345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernstrike/pseuds/Fernstrike
Summary: In the dream, she was young again, and she was laughing.





	

_In the dream, she was young again, and she was laughing. Where once a star had been caught in her hair, the sun was now caught in his, gleaming golden and bright. They were by the lake, as in days past. He splashed her in jest, and the droplets glimmered like tiny jewels. His arms wound round her, strong like castles, and she held his face - young, stripped of cares, full of joy, filled with love. She drew close to him, as the world shrunk down to just his eyes. Bluer than the cloudless sky, warmer than summer. Two complete universes._

* * *

Andreth woke in a cold sweat, mind reeling, with a terrible ache in her chest. The ground was shaking. _It cannot be._

She rose blindly, bones aching with age, stumbling against the walls until she flung the door wide. The winter wind did not chill her blood - it was the redness of the sky, the roaring sound, as though the clouds themselves were licked by flames and being rent full apart.

She knew, in her heart of hearts, what had befallen Aegnor. Her soul was certain as time's own passage. She crumpled to the ground, and wept, even as their warriors sent up the alarm, and people grabbed her shaking shoulders, telling her to run.

* * *

When he was spared a precious few days, Finrod rode out to Brethil. He asked of the Men there what had become of Andreth, and they led him to a stone, sparsely adorned with pale, frail flowers. Alone, he sank to his knees, and laid a hand over the inscription - _Saelind,_ it read. "Until the End of Days, then," he whispered. "May you rest in Light until we are all together once again." Where his tears fell, the spring blooms grew, bright and wild.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from the B2MeM Purple Path: “I love the silent hour of night, For blissful dreams may then arise, Revealing to my charmed sight What may not bless my waking eyes." Anne Brontë.


End file.
